


Queen of all my Dreams

by Kitty September (KittyAug), KittyAug, KittyAugust (KittyAug)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Canon-Typical Violence, Crossing Timelines, Darkest Timeline, Demon Dean, F/F, F/M, Female Dean Winchester, Implied/Past Destiel, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Torture, Implied/Unrequited Wincest, Mark of Cain, Parallel Universes, Rule 63, Seriously twisted, The Darkness - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-18
Updated: 2015-09-18
Packaged: 2018-04-21 07:39:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4820870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KittyAug/pseuds/Kitty%20September, https://archiveofourown.org/users/KittyAug/pseuds/KittyAug, https://archiveofourown.org/users/KittyAug/pseuds/KittyAugust
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <b>Two worlds, two nephilim, one angel, one demon, and one choice.</b>
</p><p>
  <i>Match Made in Hell:</i>
</p><p>Deanna's life is falling apart. Her kid is the most powerful nephilim the world has ever seen and she won't be able to keep her worst secrets for much longer. Her little brother is possessed by an angel (again) and doesn't even know it. And now she’s kind of hooking up with the wannabe queen of Hell... this isn't gonna be a good one... </p><p>
  <i>Heaven Sent:</i>
</p><p>In another, softer place Deanna doesn't have the Mark at all. She has a little sister with a lot of problems, but she's also got red-haired angel in her arms and a tattoo where a darker version has the first curse. It's a place where the Men of Letters bunker has given her a home, a wife, and (thanks to a short vessel swap) a planned and wanted child. It's almost too good to be true.</p><p>
  <i>This is a story about what happens when those two worlds collide. </i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sum of Our Parts

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was written for the 2015 [SPN Femslash Minibang](http://spnfemminibang.livejournal.com/) \- it ended up being more about gender and relationships more generally. Hopefully people still enjoy these twisted little versions of the SPN 'verse and their clash.
> 
> Eternal love and thanks to my pinch hitting artist [Isis McGee](http://isis-mcgee.livejournal.com/). And to my beloved irl Sammy for the even more last minute beta. You guys are the best and helped me feel somewhat less like this fic was cursed!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is blood on Deanna’s hands. It drips down her arms in cooling droplets. Soaks into the rolled back cuffs of her shirt staining it an even darker, copper heavy red. She smiles broad and bloody and true. God does she smile. Because this feels good. Too good.

She can feel the tension of the First Blade in her hand. Barely a blade at all. Almost a blunt instrument. Like her – a blunt bludgeon of a thing sharpened by use more than thought and only really made useful by magic, destiny and circumstance. There was probably something poetic in that. But right now, right here it doesn’t matter. All that matters is the blood and the hunt. And the freedom. Oh god the freedom. Real freedom, at last.

She takes a deep breath she doesn’t even need. She can taste the fire, and the blood, the pain and fear on the air, sulfur sweet, the almost milky smell of broken bones, and the bitter burnt magic of dying demons, and as always that perfect combination of apple shampoo, old fashioned lipstick, and sex. It smells like hope used to feel.

She looks up and Abaddon standing before her now, having stepped delicately over the destruction and dead bodies that fill the room. There isn’t a hair out of place and what feels like real pride in her eyes. The Queen catches Deanna’s waist and pulls her forward. Kisses her like violence. And Deanna lets herself respond. Buries one bloody hand in the demon’s perfect copper hair and kisses back like all Hell is on the line. Because it is. It always is.

“You ready, baby?” Abaddon asks.

“As I’ll ever be,” Deanna grins back.

They are so damn close now. Close to finishing this. Binding the Mark so they can rule Hell and eventually Heaven too. So close Dee can taste it on their breaths. Of course the spell requires her brother’s blood. But that isn’t going to be a problem. Between Deanna’s planning and Abaddon’s brutality there is nothing that can stop them. Not even Sam Winchester at his most righteous.

“You are glorious like this,” Abaddon says. She wipes a streak of viceira off Dee’s cheek as she says it.

Dee can feel the twisted knot of lusts inside her. Lust for blood, lust for flesh, lust for power, lust for her Queen. It’s so wrong it’s right. Deanna puts the Blade away in it’s holster on her leg, so she can get both hands on Abaddon’s skin. Both hands on her face and drag her back to kissing for redemption.

“I won’t be long,” Dee assures the Queen. “You’re my Queen and I couldn’t stay away if I wanted to. You know that right?”

“I do. But I don’t need to,” Abaddon says. It’s imperious, commanding, a little cold. And just the right mix to get Dee’s demonic blood flowing hot.

“I wanna dance,” Dee says, and drops to her knees without further preamble. Her hands smeer bloody streaks on Abaddon’s tight leather pants as she pulls them open, she disapproves suddenly of their existence. Not quite enough to burn them off - they look too good the rest of the time - but enough to pull them roughly. Abaddon lets her. Lets her worship at the Demon Queen’s altar of a body. Abaddon arches her back and lets out a breathless moan when Dee gets her hands on that coppery cunt. The blood on her hands is still tacky slick and it smudges into golden-red curls, smears across peach skin, and she can taste it when she finally applies her tongue to the demon’s clit. Blood, woman, violence, and demon. What more could she want. She sighs into it and Abbadon’s nails sink into her hair, into her scalp hard enough to draw blood.

Somewhere else, in another universe, as far away as two breaths and as close as eternity… another version of Deanna wakes up screaming in an empty bed.

* * *

 

**The Road So Far…**

**6 Months Earlier - Eugene, Oregon**

Okay, so this Tracy chick was a bitch, and kinda stupid – seriously who empties their only clip of demon trap bullets into one demon without even waiting to see if they work - but that didn’t mean she deserved to go out like _this_. Dee figured she could buy the chick some time while Abaddon tried to shred Deanna into kitty meat.

She could almost feel Sam’s disapproval of that plan from here, even though he was God knows where with Irv. Though, he’d probably be even more bitchy if she let the chick get killed for the high crime of almost making Sam cry. A no win on the little brother’s disapproval front then. May as well play the hero she was always told she was.

Deanna did the only thing she could think of when Abaddon started advancing on them with all 6 demon trap bullets uselessly buried in Kevlar.  She threw a flask full of holy water in the demon’s face and tossed her car keys to Tracy.

“Listen, my car is three blocks over,” Deanna told her. “Go get more bullets, more holy water, get everything.”

“No, n-no, but…” Tracy stammered out. “What about you?”

“Just go!”” Dee shouted back in her best command voice. The voice that got Sam to actually move when they were kids. The one that could even get dad up and moving through a drunk haze. And it worked on lost little Tracy and her stupid booty shorts too. She was up and running.

“Alone at last,” Abaddon said from behind Dee’s back. Her voice was back to normal, so already over a face full of holy water then.

Deanna pulled a stolen angel blade from her jacket. Cas had said some bullshit about angelic power making them stronger once but then Dee knew she was able to kill Zach with one… so if it worked on an angel maybe it’d work on a Knight of Hell. Gotta be worth a shot. Or a few seconds at least. She charged.

She wished she could be surprised when Abaddon feinted then twisted into the attack, disarming Deanna in one fluid move and twisting her into an awkward face to face arm hold. Bitch.

The problem was Deanna wasn’t used to fighting targets with such a similar level of calculated brutality and agility. Deanna used her attackers’ moves against them all the time and having it turned on her was both impressive and infuriating. She glared.

Then she gasped as Abaddon pushed through the hold into a crippling attack. It said something spectacularly depressing about her life that Deanna recognized the sound of her shoulder dislocating a moment before the pain hit and forced her to her knees. Dee focused on breathing through the pain trying to ignore the way the demon looked her over. That expression was way too hot for a fight – but then again maybe that’s what gets Abaddon off. Goddamnit Winchester, what the hell? She just dislocated your damn shoulder that is no one’s idea of a come on. Probably…

“I missed you, Dee.” Abaddon smirked right up into Deanna’s face. “Did you miss me?” Okay, that was a come on.

Somewhere far off Deanna heard a crash. Close to that sniper fire from earlier, if she had to guess. Goddamn it. She spared a moment to hope that Sammy was safe and prayed that a hidden angel was enough to keep him that way. Then she looked into Abaddon’s newly restored meat suit and smiled back.

“So appreciate you kids coming when I call.” Abaddon spoke into her ear, breath too hot for human against the sensitive skin on Deanna’s neck. The smell of apple and vanilla shouldn’t mix so seductively with sulfur. “I think that's what I like most about you Winchesters. You're so obedient. And suicidally stupid. I like that, too.”

“Are we gonna fight or make out?” Dee even managed to smirk back at her. “'Cause I'm getting some real mixed signals here.” Deanna had never been above using her sexuality to make a monster uncomfortable. And even if there was a grain of truth in it, so what? She was still buying time for Tracy, not to mention Irv and Sam. That was the whole point, right? Her arm was going numb.

“I want Crowley. Or what's left of him.” Right to the point then. Damn it.

“Yeah? What's in it for me?” Deanna said. She was still being way more flirtatious than she should and dragging things out.  She wasn’t above selling out Crowley if she needed to, though. She wasn’t even really sure what she planned on using him for anyway. They would still need a way to kill Abaddon but that didn’t have to happen today. Maybe she really could argue, flirt, or buy their way out of this?

“I let you…” Abaddon stopped suddenly, like she just changed her mind. She gave Dee a calculating kind of look that swept her whole body in a way that made Dee hot and cold at the same time. When their eyes met again Deanna could see the moment the demon decided to go off script. “Where’s the kid?” she asked it like a test.

And that really got Deanna’s attention. She struggled against the hold for the first time, even though it sent new sparks of pain shooting through her shoulder, and she realized she was held down by demonic power as much as the pain. She clenched her teeth and almost spat her next words, “You stay the fuck away from MJ, hell-bitch.”

“Ah, ah, ah.” Abaddon looked way too pleased with Dee’s reaction. “I didn’t say I was going to hurt your little runt now did I? I mean, I could, obviously… but that isn’t what I was thinking, at all.”

Could she? Could she hurt the kid? Mary Jo was pretty much the most powerful thing even the Winchesters had ever come across apart from Death and Lucifer. Was a Knight of Hell really that big a deal? Of course MJ’s powers weren’t under her control yet. How much did the demon even know? Enough that her first thought wasn’t to use MJ as a target or a threat to Dee - that’s for sure. And even that might be too much.

Deanna just glared at her and bit down on a pained whimper. She wanted to know what came next, just what exactly the demon was offering but she didn’t want to give in. Backing down just wasn’t in Dee’s nature, especially not if her kid or her brother were under threat. Protecting her family was all she had ever had. No matter how bad it got. This wasn’t even close to the worst thing she had done to buy Sammy some time. Hell, it wasn’t even the first time she had flirted with a monster to do so.

Abaddon ran one overly familiar claw-tipped nail across Dee’s chest. Bisecting her anti-possession tattoo in a sinister way, and caught Deanna’s eye again as she did it.

“You know, I've loved this body since the moment I first saw it. You're the perfect vessel, Deanna. You give a girl all sorts of nasty ideas… we could raise a lot of Hell, you and I.”

“Not really my style,” Dee said automatically. What was with the subject change – was it one? And why the fuck did it sound tempting? Deanna knew a seductively framed threat when she heard one.  She also knew she probably wouldn’t put up with it from Crowley, or anyone else. So why was she this time?

“Isn’t it?” Abaddon asked like she was reading Dee’s mind. Which she couldn’t, ha, thank you horribly invasive but useful Enochian bone branding.

Deanna felt herself smirk back, anyway. She always did have an escalating weakness for a hot redhead. Starting with that son-of-a-bitch Ian Blake in 10th grade, then Rhonda Hurley, then Anna, hell even Charlie turned out to be a freaking mistake. Maybe she had a problem…

There was a bright flash of blue light and the sound of demons screaming as they flickered out of existence – it was a distinctive sound that Dee would admit to enjoying just a little more that she should.

“An angel?” Abaddon said, suddenly a lot more threatening than seductive again.

“Yep, didn’t think we’d come here with out back-up did you?” Deanna said taking back control of the situation as quickly as she could. “I think that’s your cue.”

Abaddon didn’t look pleased but she backed off arms up.

“For now – but we still gotta talk business sometime. See you later, sweetheart.”

She was gone before Deanna’s hand even closed back over her angel blade. Probably just as well. Deanna wasn’t actually sure if she would have stabbed her or not at that point.

* * *

** **

**A World Away - Men of Letters Bunker**

Deanna wakes up gasping for air. Her skin is too hot and her heart is racing. She tries to chase a confused memory of red hair that smelled like demons instead of angel. It felt wrong but good. Apple and fig and vanilla. And dry blood.

Dee has a lot of nightmares. Waking up in a cold sweat isn’t exactly new. Hell, Purgatory, an apocalypse or three, the fire that took her mom, three weeks with a soulless sister, and her life in general. They were all fuel for nighttime fears, even her normal dreams are more blood than anything.

She is just thankful that she doesn’t get night terrors and sleep paralysis like Samantha does, or did for years after the demon blood and again after Castiel broke that damn wall in her mind. In their life it is desperately important for someone to know the difference between real demons and imagined ones. She shakes off that thought along with the lingering traces of the dark dream. It wasn’t real she reminds herself. She’s safe here in her own bed. Safe.

The strange thing about tonight's dream was Abaddon, again. That was who held her down in the dream. And this isn’t the first time either. Why Abaddon? She’d hardly been a real threat even when she wasn’t buried in a bunch of little boxes. Not with Anna going all arch-angelic fury on her ass after the demon nearly killed Henry.

Damn it. Deanna is fully awake now. She stretches out reaching for comfort by some reflex but the other side of the bed is empty. As usual for this time of night. Still slightly warm though. The faint smell of cut grass, clean skin and the very edge of angelic ozone lingers. Sometimes, on nights like this, she wishes angels slept.

As if on cue the baby starts crying in the next room. Okay maybe a spouse that doesn’t sleep isn’t all bad. She can imagine with an edge of physical clarity how hard this would be alone. She smiles and gets up even though the crying has already stopped before she even gets her slippers on. She’s awake now anyway.

She slips into what Samantha only half-jokingly refers to as her ‘dead guy robe’ and makes her way out into the cold hall.

Even with Charlie’s help they never have quite figured out how to get the central heating to work in the corridors at night. At least it gives her another excuse for the dead guy robe anyway. She’s never quite managed to admit that she likes the MoL logo on her chest, likes the sense of history in this place and in herself. Even if they were long dead she just likes the feeling that a Winchester somewhere might have belonged somewhere. Might have been part of something that wasn’t all guns and blood. It was stupid. Sammy would understand - she always understands - but Dee isn’t comfortable with what Sam and Anna both call ‘emotional vulnerability’. So screw it. She wears the robe without comment, puts up with the teasing, and builds her little home inside the warded walls of an underground bunker in the middle of Kansas. She is the closest she has ever been to happy and that is going to have to be good enough for the well-meaning and way too nosy women in her life.

She pushes the door open to the makeshift nursery and takes in the softly lit domesticity. God, if you told her ten years ago that she would ever have this she probably would have punch you. And that was before it all went down too, before the apocalypse, before Hell. Back when demons scared her. But that was also before red haired angels. Before Anna.

She leans up against the door frame to observe the little scene. Anna carefully laying Bethany back down in her Ikea crib. It looks so out of place among the Men of Letters furniture and yet somehow perfect. Most babies probably don’t have an Enochian and Sumerian protection symbol theme for their nursery either. But this kid is a Winchester. It makes more sense than kittens. And Anna, of all people, had gone over Dee’s ward work - not to make it more powerful but to add chibi style angels and bunny rabbits around the sigils.

“Did you just angel wammy my baby?” Deanna says softly, trying to keep the smile out of her voice and failing.

“No, she just likes me better,” Anna responds with that huge smile that still manages to make Deanna’s breath catch. “And you should be asleep too, Winchester.”

“Can’t.” Dee shrugs. She could kick herself for the angel wammy comment. She wasn’t asking Anna to put her out. She hates needing that and it’s been months, almost a year, since the nightmares got that bad anyway. She reaches out a hand and Anna takes it letting herself be pulled into Deanna’s arms. “Almost mornin’ anyway,” Dee mumbles into apple scented hair.

Anna looks up at her in a way that is far too knowing. It’s the kind of knowing that comes from knowing Dee as a person, and from just being Anna not from the angel thing, so it makes Dee’s heart hurt a little. Being both known and loved by this celestial creature still takes her by surprise some days. Every day, maybe. And knowing how close they came to losing each other, it makes it all the sweeter to have her here now.

“How about I help distract you?” Anna offers. Her smile turns coy and she leans up to press an almost chaste kiss to Deanna’s lips. And, yeah, okay - that’s the sort of help even Winchester pride can’t refuse.

Dee kisses her back hard enough to banish any lingering thoughts of sulfur and apple blossom. Covers the nightmare over with fresh grass and cool grace. She tangles her fingers in hair that’s just the right kind of red and pulls her lover back towards their shared room. Thankful for sound proofing and the 4am stillness around them.

* * *

 

** **

**Men of Letters Bunker - A few steps closer to Hell…**

It had been pure luck that Sam was in the room when Castiel called Deanna that first time. And it was luck again when he found a lead that he thought he could trick Dee into following, when Cas still hadn’t turned up a week later.

The first time Deanna had glanced at the phone screen, unknown number, and answered - because they always answered that even if they didn’t want to. They never knew when it would be yet another friend bleeding out.

Whatever Cas had opened with it wasn’t enough because Dee’s response had been “Fuck off, Cas.”

She was about to hang up when Sam snatched the phone out of her hands and glared at her.

Cas had fallen. Again. For them, again. And when he said as much to Dee she had laughed at him. That rough broken laugh. That twisted mockery of what his sister was before the Apocalypse. And she had said “No, Sam. He never does it for us. He does everything for him. Trust me.”

Then she’d stomped out of the room. He had found her in the library a half hour after, hugging a confused looking MJ. He had felt physically sick for a moment when he almost thought she was on the verge of telling her daughter who the kid’s real father was. But she’d been angry at Cas before. Really angry. Scared of him even. And even then, she had never once dropped the lie. She cared about MJ, cared too much to tell her what she really was. And goddamnit wasn’t that his sister all over. Selfishly self-sacrificing to her core. Castiel might be the worst substitute father on the face of the Earth but it was still better than the truth, so the lie held. They all pretended that they didn’t know. Because Dee couldn’t stand the thought of how her kid would feel if she knew what she really was. So they all played this stupid game of silence and half-lies.

Dee had just sat there and cried into MJ’s hair until Sam had pulled her off and told MJ to go ask Kevin to take her to school. That was still been new, too. Dee letting Sam touch her again. If the trials had given him one thing it was that. Somehow coming so damn close to death, again, had convinced Dee that she would rather have him, even after the Apocalypse. He had to wonder how much was his own sacrifice and how much was yet another betrayal from Cas though. Had to wonder if he was just a replacement for his own substitute.

That had been a week ago and things still hadn’t got any better. Dee pretty much refused to even talk about finding Cas. Sam had to do something.

Sam couldn’t really believe that Cas actually killed that nephilim either but it didn’t change anything really. Cas must have known how Dee would react to it. He must have known that she would be seeing MJ’s face not some unknown waitress in California. Maybe he had done it on purpose to push her away - who the hell knew. Not Sam that was for damn sure. In the end it didn’t matter though, they had Abaddon on their tails, a whole slew of fallen angels and Metatron to deal with. And they owed Cas, whether Dee saw it or not.

Sam pushed the memories and tangents aside. Thinking about that wasn’t going to help him find their missing former angel any quicker. The dead girl near Cas’s last known location wasn’t enough of a lead. But two priests with burned out eyes - that had to be enough to get Deanna moving.

She’d been on edge ever since their encounter with Abaddon a few days ago though. Irv’s sacrifice and Tracy’s 7 year long grudge had hit Sam hard too - but somehow Dee was the one about to climb out of her own skin from it.

As if she had heard him thinking about her Deanna stalked into the room, still wrapped in that damn dead guy robe and glaring at him over her cup of too strong too sweet coffee.

“What?” she demanded. Like he was the weird one. Typical.

“I think I’ve got a lead on… the angels. They’re looking for something in Emory Park, Iowa - it's only a few hours away. Thought you might wanna check it out?”

“I’d rather gank ghosts and ghouls but I suppose angels are still monsters, right?” she said. Smug in a way that showed she knew her cavalier attitude would bug him. “Lemme get dressed and make sure Kev’s got enough cash and we’re off.”

Sam wasn’t sure if he was grateful or terrified at how easy that was.

* * *

**St. Anne's Cathedral, Emory Park, Iowa - 6 hours later…**

“Clarence…” Sam said with wry humour. “It’s kind of sweet. That’s the name Meg used to call him. He probably doesn’t even know it’s a pretty famous angel.”

Deanna had that clenched jaw look. Arms crossed for a moment before she shifted to gripping the steering wheel. Jaw still twitching. She was not happy about coming to look for Cas. She might even be resisting the urge to punch Sam over it. Sam wasn’t surprised but maybe a little disappointed.

Sam could never decide just how his sister felt about the angel that pulled her out of Hell. She was mostly gay, he knew that much from observation. Like a 5 on the Kinsey scale - at least. And he really shouldn’t have thought about his sister as often as he did during that freshman Human Sexualities course but what can you do. He knew she picked up guys sometimes - he suspected it was only if it was easier. And she did have a few boyfriends when they were teenagers - though that could have been to placate Dad as much as any natural proclivity. And then there had been the ‘doublemint twins’ - dear god why. And, well, most of all Sam wondered because there was a damn good reason they could all go along pretending that MJ was Cas’s kid. So they must have… at least once… but as he watched her in that moment, he still wasn’t sure one way or the other.

He remembered that her Siren was a guy… but not just any guy. A guy like _Sam_. She didn’t want a better lover - she wanted a better brother. Maybe Sam was just shooting himself in the foot following this path and pulling Cas back into their lives. But when did that ever stop a Winchester from doing the ‘right thing’... certainly never stopped Dee, even if her ‘right thing’ was usually a twisted almost selfish kind of loyalty. With Deanna it always came down to family. Sex was something she did. Family was something she was, it was in her bones. It was then that Sam finally realized it, only a _brother_ could hurt her the way Cas had…

Sam suddenly knew how she felt about Cas and just how he hurt her - because Sam was always hurting her in just the same way.

“Take a picture.” Deanna’s voice dragged Sam back into the moment. “It’ll last longer.”

“Sorry,” he muttered. He wasn’t sorry about staring but it’d do. She’d never let them get close enough to the topics he really wanted to say sorry for.

She started the car, just a little more viciously than she normally would, and drove off. Sam had to take that as agreement to try and find Cas. It’d do for now.

* * *

** **

**Somewhere softer…**

Deanna nuzzles into the slightly cool skin behind Anna’s ear and runs her hands down the angel’s bare sides. If there is one thing she misses about Anna’s two brief stints at humanity it is her body heat. Angels tend to run a little cold - only few degrees or so but enough to notice. Anna’s never been as cold as Lucifer or Michael had been. But it’s just enough to remind Deanna that her lover isn’t quite human. Some days it is sexy but other times it’s just unsettling and she can never be sure what will trigger which reaction.

This time she pushes all that aside. She focuses on the soft, fair skin under her lips instead and the way the angel shivers in sweet anticipation under her kisses. Dee smiles into Anna’s skin and massages her fingers deep into her shoulderblades. If she focuses just right and Anna’s blood is running fast enough then she can almost tell where her allegorical wings merge with human reality. Anna’s back doesn’t get sore anymore - it did when she was human. She told Dee once that she always wondered why but once she got her grace back she realised the wings never went away. They weren’t gone - just bound inside her. Powered not by grace but part of her soul. Mystical something or other - but Dee likes the idea anyway. Likes the idea that her angel was always a little bit more than the eye could see.

And she _really_ likes soothing away the half-remembered aches - her callused, short nailed hunter’s hands on smooth creamy angelic flesh. The way Anna arches up under her, pushes back a little into Dee’s thighs where she is straddling her angel’s lower back. Dee is just starting to tense up, giving in to the rising heat under her skin, turn the soft kisses into something hotter. Open mouthed, a little teeth too… turning her massage from sensual to sexual. Indulge in skin on skin slide- when Anna’s phone buzzes loud on the bedside table.

“Arg,” Deanna complains and lets her body go boneless. Falls forward onto Anna knowing she can take all of Dee’s considerable muscle mass. “Ignore it?” Dee whines. She knows it’s useless. But she digs her blunt nails into Anna’s side anyway - in just the place that she knows gets her going, angel’d up or not. It doesn’t work. But at least she tried.

Anna rolls Dee off like she weighs nothing. At least she looks apologetic about it and the kiss she gives Dee almost makes up for the interruption. It promises that she’ll make it up to her later. It doesn’t stop Dee from flopping back onto the bed with an exaggerated sigh though.

It is the first time that Samantha has taken out a newly human Castiel on a case without either Dee or Anna as back-up. And Dee can’t really blame her wife for her concern over her idiot sibling. If Sammy was the one suddenly weakened and running off to hunt a ghoul for the first time then Dee would have been just as edgy. Probably worse actually - she’d been bad enough when she was too pregnant to go on hunts and had been left at home with the prophet while Anna and Sam went on hunts. And Anna had been all angel and Samantha was actually functional most of the time.

She knows Anna feels responsible for Cas’s newfound humanity somehow. Like it was her fault her little brother was a gullible idiot. Dee manages to stop herself laughing at the thought.  It was like Anna thought it was her fault that she was the only angel that knew how to live without orders or something. Dee really does sigh at that one.

Anna is smiling as she texts back. So whatever the really badly timed interruption had been about it wasn’t life or death. Which means it shouldn’t take too long-

Anna drops the phone back onto the bedside table and rolls over. Crawls right into Deanna’s lap.

“Where were we?” she whispers right into Dee’s ear. And Dee presses up into her, breast to breast, yeah she can handle the odd interruption so long as the apology felt like this.

“Here,” she answers and wraps a hand in the angel’s tangled red hair pulling her down into a deep kiss. Slick, sweet, and perfectly distracting. Just a little too good to be called divine…

* * *

** **

**Back in black…**

Deanna couldn’t freaking breathe. Of fucking course it got worse. It always got worse.

She’d seen more angel blinded people than she cared to know. She’d seen what happened when grace burned through a human body. She had come close to knowing it herself more than once. But now she knew it with a shocking intimacy.

She knew it on Kevin. Little Kevin who had been so like Sam at that age. So full of hope and longing for his normal life and his AP classes… Kevin who had been so damn brave and wandered into this through no fault of his own. Kevin whose fate had literally burned him… Kevin who Dee had damned with her desperation to save Sam. She wanted to cry but it caught in her throat.

Deanna had sold her soul for her brother before and honestly probably would again even knowing it had almost burned the freaking world. But this was worse somehow. She hadn’t sold herself. This time she sold something real - she’d sold someone else. Sold Kevin almost as clearly as she’d sold herself in the past. And god damn it she wasn’t sure it was worth it. Wasn’t sure if she would do this one again. And wasn’t sure which option made her a worse excuse for a human and a hunter.

And then it got freaking worse. Because then she heard MJ gasp. Heard her baby cry out. Heard and felt and knew that MJ was seeing just what Mommy had done. 7 years old and looking at this… it was worse. So much worse.

“Don’t look, baby,” Dee managed to gasp out. Managed to put a hand flat out towards her child but couldn’t look at her. Not yet. Still couldn’t pull her eyes away from Kevin’s burned out face. Couldn’t pull her eyes away from what she had done… not yet. Oh god… Sam. She still had to save Sam…

* * *

Using Crowley to get Sam back just made sense. As much as anything made sense right then anyway.

Relying on Cas came a little harder. And when the hell had that happened? When did her life become a place where trusting the former King of Hell was easier than trusting a goddamn angel.

In the end she left Cas to look after MJ and went with Crowley to find his NSA contact.

She hated the car Cas had appropriated. But ‘Ze- correction Gadreel, was riding around rough shod in her baby just like he was riding around in her baby brother - and _that_ thought had to stop before she puked. So that meant the hideous and badly maintained gold Continental was their ride for the duration. Great.

She glanced over at Crowley.

“What?” she snarled when she saw him blatantly staring at her.

“Nothing, Princess,” Crowley said with his usual sneer. “Demon, remember? I can smell the self-hatred from here. It’s a good look on you.”

“Shut up before I shut you up,” she snapped back. She pulled the gear shift harder than needed and pushed the car harder than she should. Considering how badly maintained the piece of shit was it’d probably fall apart on them. Right then she didn’t care one bit. She needed this bullshit over. One way or another.

* * *

**Yet another abandoned warehouse - Sommerset, Pennsylvania**

Belladonna remembered more about being human than is natural for a demon. As much as anything about any demon can be considered natural anyway.

She knew why too. Because she knew enough about demons even before her little trip to the pits. The first reason is simple, it was because she held out for longer than she should have. Longer than their precious Righteous Woman even. And when she was human she might have tried to pretend, to herself at least, that she did it out of pride or some grand gesture. Maybe even pretend that it was about being too good or too strong to break. But that would have been a lie. It was fear. It was the part of her that was still little Bela not-yet-Talbot. The part that was scared of hurting someone else. The part that saved baby birds because seeing them hurt, hurt her. The part that was kind out of selfishness. The part that saw inflicting pain on others as a kind of torture in itself. That was the part that held out too long.

Of course, she broke eventually. Everyone does eventually. Everyone put on that path will break - it is a fact of the universe.

The second and simplest reason she still has some humanity hidden in all that black smoke is the fact she never ‘graduated’ - she broke and she cut just as deep into others as they had cut into her. Even after Alistair was gone, there had been others. Kalista stood out the most for some reason. Guiding Belladonna’s hands. Guiding her laugh. Pushing, pushing, always pushing. Closer, closer, always closer to the bitter black inside. But never quite deeming her _ready_. She remembered watching _him_ hang there. With her father’s face, maybe her father’s soul - did it matter? She remembered almost wanting it, almost hating it, almost needing to do it… But she never did. They never let her. So she never really claimed what she was becoming even as she worked demonic day after hell night. Never really resting. Letting the humanity bleed out of her soul into the Hellforge and waiting for it all to be gone so she could just stop caring and hurting and… wanting not to want things.

But that never happened. Because the third reason she still remembers everything about her human existence is because the Queen wanted her to. And possibly the King before her but that one Bel- no Belladonna (don’t forget - names are important - don’t forget) was never clear on. Crowley had come to watch her a few times but he never outright asked her anything. He could have been biding his time. Or he could have just been curious. Or maybe he just didn’t know or didn’t care to use what and who she used to be to his advantage. Either way it wasn’t until he went missing that Abaddon made her way back down into the Pit to find a little lost soul and drag her not-quite-demon self back into the light.

Belladonna remembered what greatful was. What it was meant to feel like. But she wasn’t grateful. Not really. She was demon enough for that at least. She wasn’t even loyal really. She was mostly obedient. Mostly she just liked having something to do that didn’t always hurt. So she went along with it. The lack of pain, the feeling of sun on stolen skin, the vague sense of purpose - it was all a payment. For services rendered. So she was loyal to Abaddon as much as she ever was to the highest bidder. She was professional. And that was enough for both of them, for now.

So that’s why Belladonna remembered the who of who she was trailing. That was why she remembered that terse final phone call. Remembered letting herself beg Deanna bloody Winchester to help her. Remembered the refusal too. Kind of wanted to blame Deanna. Kind of wanted to strip off her skin and make her beg instead. But it was an abstract desire. An abstract memory. If she couldn’t cut into the man who damned her through his actions as much as she damned herself by selling her soul, then how could she cut into the woman who just let it play out? If she can’t cut her wretched family how would she cut anyone else she knows

Though Deanna and Bela were related actually - distantly. She always wondered - they look so similar after all. Well, looked. Her new meat-suit was still British but that’s about the only thing shared with her old skin. She was dark haired and olive skinned now, small, lythe with eyes so dark they’re almost black even human. A gymnast because Belladonna needed a body she could twist and use the way she used to. A body she could push hard and fast and smooth, get into tight spaces, and fingers nimble enough to pick locks and snag wallets. A simple and unremarkable face - because Bel- Belladonna was sick of using any face the way she used to use hers and she had enough other skills that it didn’t matter.

Now that she was actually close enough to watch Deanna move she knew she wouldn’t try for vengeance. She could still read people like books. There’s no torture Belladonna could come up with that would be close to what Deanna already put herself through. And it wouldn’t be worth the price. The Queen wanted this one intact. Maybe to wear her… maybe something else. It doesn’t really matter. Belladonna had her orders and she’ll follow them. That’s enough. For now…

Belladonna pressed herself back further into the shadows. Crouched into the rafters like that she couldn’t see everything going on below - another abandoned warehouse how very Winchester. She couldn’t actually see Crowley or the angel possessing Sam Winchester. That didn’t really matter though, because she could hear enough to know what was going on - a double possession. Dangerous but clever. Putting a lot of faith in the soon-to-be-former King of Hell though.

From her hiding place what she could see was the kid - sitting in the corner and clutching and angel-blade like a normal child would a teddy bear. She was still surprised that they even brought the bloody kid for this. Bad parenting choices must run in the family. Deanna had walked out of the main room and come up behind the child once the possession started. Used her body to shield her child from seeing the horrors she was part of even before she was born. Had her arms wrapped around the kid - both trying to ignore what was going on and both failing.

She had heard about it, how could she not, every demon topside knew. Belladonna couldn’t imagine a world where hunters would actually plan to have a child but there it was. The great Deanna Winchester pregnant was an amusing thought - demons liked to assume it would have weakened her but Belladonna suspected the opposite.

The demons gossiped about the way that kid should be an obvious weakness - dreamed up ways they could use it against her. Belladonna _knew_ that wasn’t true even before she saw them together. Just as with the brother, Deanna somehow got tougher when they were in danger. Turned into a viper. Threatening one or both of the younger Winchesters was probably the source of all those incidents that had turned Deanna into the demonic equivalent of the boogy-man.

This close Bela could see that the _other_ more secret rumors about the kid were true too. Belladonna had her eyes blinked to black, and through her demonic sight she could see the sharp edges of blue-white grace twisted through the kid and scarred into its soul. Half-angel, half-human. Dangerous. Very dangerous if the myths were true.

“A demon and an angel walk into my brother,” Deanna said. Talking to Castiel but still hugging the kid like a lifeline. “Sounds like a bad joke.”

“Deanna,” Castiel said. “If this doesn’t work-”

“It’ll work.” Deanna didn’t even let him finish. Belladonna didn’t let herself wonder where that conviction was when hellhounds were tearing down Bela Talbot’s hotel room door - that way madness lay. It would have been admirable if it wasn’t so pathetic. And Belladonna was getting so good at the demon thing that she could almost convince herself she believed that.

What Deanna didn’t know was that it didn’t matter if it worked. Abaddon was already on her way. Belladonna knew that it was going to end bloody. She wasn’t quite demon enough to convince herself to get excited about that. She would be. One day. She was a work in progress - that was all. Got to be...

* * *

Abaddon was not impressed by Crowley’s little speech to her demons. Not at all.

She had always known that Azazel’s policy of turning the sold souls into new demons was stupid.

Sure it was evil - it was twisted and crazed and a nice big ‘fuck you’ to God and Heaven both. Taking those souls who had chosen, for whatever selfish reason, to damn themselves for a price or a gift in life and turn them, of all options, into demons was clever, and difficult. It proved a point: that _anyone_ could be twisted by the darkness at the heart of Hell - given enough time. Anyone and anything could become a demon. However, it also resulted in weak demons. Salesmen breed more salesmen. Spies and thieves at least had their uses but what Hell needed was an army. And the sold souls were not an army.

They should have been focusing their energy on the murderers, the rapists, the inquisition, the unholy priests, the soldiers gone a little too wrong, the strong and the already broken. Not only were they easier to turn they were better, stronger, more predictable demons once broken. They did half the work of turning themselves in life - why waste all that effort. They should have been building a real army for centuries. Yet it had never been her place to argue. Now it was. Finally. Now it was time to be what she was always meant to be.

She _was_ the ‘brute’ as Crowley put it. She was a fighter. A warrior. A Knight. Lucifer had chosen her for a reason and Cain had turned her into a real weapon for that reason, too. To fight and to win. Somewhere along the way Hell had lost sight of that. Lost sight of what demons were meant to be. But she hadn’t. She was a weapon. They were all meant to be weapons.

Crowley had said it wasn’t a fight. Said it was a campaign “hearts and minds” of demons he said. A campaign was just another kind of fight. It still came down to weapons - because demons were still weapons even if they didn’t know it anymore. Demons don’t need hearts - they need purposes. She just needed better ones. Better weapons. Better demons.

Belladonna had dropped down out of the rafters once Crowley had disappeared and Abaddon had finished eviscerating her less obedient minions. One had gotten away but that wasn’t important right now.

Belladonna bowed to her Queen. At least this demon seemed to know its place. Belladonna had actually followed her orders - stayed hidden because she was meant to rather than cowardice. Abaddon wasn’t stupid enough to assume she _would_ have fought if it didn’t counteract her orders. But the point was she had an excuse. A reason. And this demon was a very special tool. She needed to be used as such. Abaddon would let her live a while longer. Probably.

“Yes?” Abaddon prompted. Belladonna - like the poison but still close to her human name. This wasn’t the weapon she needed… but maybe it held the key? “Tell me everything you observed before I arrived. And everything you know about Deanna Winchester. _Every_ thing.”

Crowley might, just might, have been right. And he maybe had it in him to win - or at least not lose if he set the terms. So she wouldn’t let him. If there was one thing Abaddon knew how to do it was start a fight. All you had to do was hit them hard enough in the right place. She was pretty sure she knew where that place was for their erstwhile King.

* * *

** **

**That world Belladonna couldn’t imagine…**

“Dee,” Anna is speaking fast but in a soft voice. “Dee, wake up. You’re okay…”

“Annie?”

“Yeah, baby. It’s me.”

Deanna pushes off the last vestige of broken, twisted, horrified sleep and places a hand over Anna’s where it rests on her shoulder from shaking her awake. That had to be the strangest dream yet… Working with Crowley? Kevin dead? Some angel possessing that strangely familiar guy. Or had it been Sammy? No it was a guy - she thinks. It hurt like it. She was so confused. And the remnants of the dream flooded away just as quickly as they had arrived. The details blurred and gone. Everything had felt so damn wrong. So… broken.

She lets herself cling to Anna. She hates that kind of vulnerability. It seems worth it in this moment though. And god Anna smells good. Apple and cold.

“Thank you,” Dee whispers into the angel’s neck.

Anna chuckles at that. “No problem.”

“You’re my Queen,” Dee says, softer still. Talks to Anna’s skin as much as anything.

Anna laughs and traces the tattooed words along Deanna’s right arm. The words and designs Anna herself put there. “I know,” she says. And that’s enough.

* * *

** **

**Lebanon, KS - Someplace a darker…**

The first time it happened was two weeks after Dee took the Mark of Cain.

That in itself was stupid, and impulsive, and she probably should have listened to what Cain was saying. But, what’s one more stupid move in a lifetime full of them. What’s one more regret, right?

Telling Sam had been hard though. She still couldn’t shake echos of that look on his face when she told him she worked the job with Crowley. The tension between them was the only thing that stopped her from pointing out that he was the Winchester with a history of banging demons so he didn’t need to look _that_ shocked. Even keeping her mouth shut he’d still said he didn’t want to be her brother anymore. Said he’d work with her, he’d help with MJ but he couldn’t be… that.

Thinking about it hurt so much. Of-freaking-course think about it was all she could do now. She even slammed the door to the Impala as she got out. She did wince and think a silent _sorry baby_ in its direction at least.

She’d dropped Sam off at the bunker and come straight here. Hadn’t even bothered going in to check on Cas and MJ. It was easier to run away at this point than playing house like nothing had changed. It was more honest. And her arm itched. The Mark hot on her skin and her whole body a little too ready for action.

It was early enough that the grocery store was almost empty. Too early for most people to be awake and Dee hadn’t even slept yet. Drove through the night to get away from Garth and his freakish little werewolf family that was _still_ more together than hers. Still more human too, added a treacherous little voice. That trator in her mind always sounded a bit like John Winchester and wasn’t that a lovely Freudian observation.

She wandered through the market in search of eggs, fancy maple bacon, fresh fruit for Sam. She focused on planning breakfast instead of everything else. She had seen Krissy’s junk heap of a van outside when she dropped Sam off. Kid would be hungry and she was gonna owe her. She just didn’t trust Cas with MJ anymore. With Kevin gone and Sam this angry - well she needed a babysitter she could trust. And wasn’t that just like Crowley had said. She just freaking used people - she got Kevin killed and all she could think about is how inconvenient it was for the school run. Fuck.

She finished the shopping almost by instinct. Even smiled bright and flirtatious at the hot pretty-sure-she’s-a-lesbian clerk with the short pink hair and the more useful than she knows pentagram necklace.

Deanna wandered back to the car still lost in her own thoughts. Still lost in general. Then she felt the hot rush of air and the slight greasy feel in the air that heralded the arrival by teleportation. Not wings, no ozone and no flutter meant demon even without the sulfur (just meant he’d been topside longer than usual).

“Fuck off Crowley,” Dee said without turning around. “I already told you, you’re not my type.”

“I don’t think that little cockroach is anyone’s type,” Abaddon said from behind her.

A combination of luck and training saved her groceries from being dropped - just. Dee placed them on the passenger seat as carefully as she could instead. Bought just a few moments more to get her face and brain under control.

“What do you _want_ , Hell-bitch?” Dee asked. Turning slowly. And holy shit the demon was even closer than she thought (although somewhere in her blood she had known and ignored it). They can do that. Powerful ones. They distort space just a little so even the most well trained hunter can’t always sense where they are. And this one was really freaking close. Right up in her face. Now that she noticed she could actually feel Abaddon’s body heat. Hotter than human. And smell apple, cinnamon and, yes, just on the edge a little sulfur. It wasn’t as unpleasant as it should have been. Goddamnit.

“I want you,” Abaddon said. Traced one red nail along Dee’s jaw. Eyes on Deanna’s lips for a moment before snapping back up to her eyes. “But first, I have a proposition.”

“Sorry,” Deanna tried to sneer back. “I don’t whore myself out anymore.”

“Don’t you?” Abaddon said. Far too knowing. And this time her eyes went to Deanna’s arm where the Mark burned hot on her skin. Pulsed with something she tried to ignore at the demon’s proximity. Pulled her in closer.

* * *

**Abaddon’s Throne Room - Regents Hotel New York**

It turns out that Abaddon's secret weapon was right in front of her the whole time. And Crowley even handed her over on a donkey bone platter. It was almost too good to be true. Almost…

 


	2. That Girl is a Goddamn Problem

**Now...**

** **

Abaddon has her bailed up against the rough brick wall. Dee knows it is, at least in part, because she let her get in too close. Hasn’t been sure who she should be fighting for weeks now and maybe Dee even pulled that last attack. It looks like Abaddon knows it too. Shit.

Some part of Deanna must have known what was coming. Because when Abaddon kisses her instead of snapping her neck she isn’t surprised. Not as surprised as she should be anyway. She’s almost relieved. What does shock her is her own reaction. The passion in her gut and the fire in her spine.

She kisses back. She always kisses back - gives as hard as she gets. It isn’t like this is the first time some monster has figured out that really hurting her is gonna take a lot more than physical abuse. But the shock is that she really wants to. She’s not just kissing to prove a point. She’s not playing some high stakes game of chicken. She’s actually enjoying it. It’s smokey and vicious and powerful in a way no other kiss has ever been.

“Am I your type, sugar?” Abaddon stops kissing her long enough to ask. Dee moves first this time, kisses the demon hard and she thinks that’s an answer.

It feels good. Really good.

It tastes like freedom.

They both pull back suddenly when the door crashes open. Eyes a little glazed like they’re both surprised by how good that felt. Sam’s voice is hazy. He’s yelling. Trying to get Abaddon off her even though that’s pretty much the last thing Dee wants.

They’re both breathing fast. But not hard. Shallow and swift. Not like a fight - not pulling in oxygen to feed working muscles. More like breathing isn’t as interesting a use of energy as focusing on the lightning up flaring along every nerve ending. Demons don’t even need to breathe. It’s some old habit. Or maybe it’s all in the body. Dee likes seeing it anyway. Likes the reaction she can pull out of this beautiful, destructive force of Hell.

Abaddon moves quickly. She hesitates but it isn’t long enough for Dee to get her brain in order. Abaddon makes a split second decision and goes for the Blade instead of Crowley. Then she’s gone.

Shit. For some crazed reason Dee is most annoyed about losing her moral high ground on the demon kink thing. Dee actually laughs. Because if it isn’t funny it’s tragic. And she’s had enough tragic for one lifetime.

She doesn’t even care when Crowley blinks off with his freaking time-displaced kid in tow. She’s just thankful he was knocked out for the whole making out with the wannabe queen of hell thing.

* * *

They haven’t heard anything from Hell in days. No one has. No omens. No new possessions. Not even any major deals. It’s like Hell is in hiding.

It’s been quiet. Too quiet. And yes, Sam knows that’s a cliché but it’s true. He knows something is up. Abaddon has everything she wanted now – the old King in hiding, the First Blade in her hands. Hell is ripe for the taking – maybe already taken. But she didn’t seem like the easy going type of ruler. Sam can’t imagine her just sitting back and letting Hell tick over the way Crowley had. He just knows she must be planning something. Sam has a sinking suspicion that Abaddon’s something involves his sister.

Deanna has been off ever since the confrontation with Abaddon. Even more closed off than usual. Strung out for the Blade. Sam should make her talk about it. Should figure out what’s wrong. But part of him is angry at her still and it makes it harder to get her to talk. She shuts down at the merest glimpse of emotion – tells him not to be a girl which, really Dee? Normally he fights past that, works his way in with a smile and that puppy dog face he knows she can’t resist. But right now he thinks he might just snap too rather than be able to coax her out of whatever shell it is she’s building now.

So when he tries, asks about it and Dee just snaps, “None of your chick-flick crap, Sammy.” So he lets it drop. Knows he shouldn’t but he knows her well enough to wait. Wait until he has the energy to draw it all out. Or until she’s dropped her ice walls far enough to want to talk about it.

Sam is so lost in his thoughts that it takes him by surprise when the call comes in.

It’s a bad day to start with, anyway. Cas is there. And that’s always hard these days. Ever since he killed the nephilim. But ‘Marv’ has been spotted. He’s making his move – trying to get the world to worship him as a god. And they have to do something. They have to try.

“Get that angelic dick away from me, Sam.” Deanna doesn’t even look at Cas. Just glares at Sam.

“Dee, we need to work with him. We need to stop Metatron, you know we do.”

“Really? Do we? Why do we need to stop Metatron? Huh? Why is it always us saving the goddamned world? What happens to Mary Jo if both of us go down swinging? You think this douchebag can raise a kid?” She flings an accusing arm towards Castiel who is silently waiting in the corner.

“That’s a good freaking point, Dee,” Sam snaps back. “You’re the one who took the Mark of Cain without a second thought. What did you think would happen to Mary if her mother burns up?”

You’re the one that chose an angel and a demon over me, says a very treacherous voice in the back of Sam’s skull. He ignores it. He’s got good at that over the years.

“ _You_ , Sam.” Deanna is closer to him that she has been in days, right up in his face. “I thought that you would look out for her. Same as you did when we were in purgatory. Same as you promised you always fucking would. Go back to your apple pie and picket fence. That’s what you want anyway, right? I thought that _you_ wouldn’t risk leaving her alone. I thought I could _trust_ you… but it turns out you’re just as stupid as me and that means I haven’t got anyone left. And neither does she.”

Sam knows it is the Mark talking. He has to tell himself that anyway. That this isn’t his sister breaking apart because of him. Because she’s sacrificing herself for Sam again. Not even doing it because she wants to, just because that’s all she ever learned to do.

He wants to think the anger comes from the darkness branded on her arm. He doesn’t want to admit that it comes from her, maybe even comes from Sam. Comes from resentment and years of giving everything she had and everything she is to keep Sam safe. Doesn’t want to admit what he knows in his marrow. That this is all his fault. That every crack and fracture in her beauty, every scar, every hell forged nightmare – that it is all on him. Always was. He bites his tongue. Tries to hold back tears. Tries to be the man his father taught him to be.

“If I may…” Cas starts to speak.

“No you may not,” Dee snaps back. But at least she steps back from the verge of hitting Sam.

“Deanna, I did what I did _for_ you,” Cas says, picks up an old conversation dee keeps stopping before it can start. “ _For_ Mary,” he continues. “For all of us. When I killed that nephilim I did what I thought was right, I’ve said I’m sorr…”

“Don’t,” she cuts him off again. “I’ve heard that too many times. You gotta stop being sorry, Cas. You gotta stop all this bullshit. You gotta stop doing things to be sorry for in the first place.”

“Fine,” he says and sounds so much like Dee that Sam would laugh if it wasn’t such a tense moment. “If you won’t hear me out at least consider what happens to the last nephilim once Metatron is _God_ , Deanna? What happens then?”

“I don’t even have the Blade,” Deanna says. Doesn’t agree, not outright. Won’t admit she might be wrong. But she’s at least engaging with the problem. It’s a start. And honestly more than Sam had hoped for at this point.

Cas sighs and rolls his eyes. Another Deanna move. And not a wise one considering how volatile she has been since she gave up the Blade. She’s on the edge of reacting when her phone rings.

The caller ID says ‘666’. This can’t be good.

* * *

Deanna isn’t sure if this is a blessing or a curse.

“Heya Princess,” Abaddon’s silky voice drawls across the line. It’s what she expected but it still makes Deanna’s breath catch.

“Abaddon,” Dee says. Menacing and firm. More for the benefit of Cas and Sam than the conversation. “What do you _want_?”

“To the point. I always like that in a girl.”

“Get to yours then, Abby.”

“That’s no way to talk to someone who’s only trying to help you, Deanna. And I am, you know. We’re on the same side – you just don’t know it yet-”

“I am not on your side.”

“Oh, I think you’ll find we are. I suggest you turn on KCR news. I think you’ll be very interested in what you see. And then, when you’re ready. I’ve got the Blade. And I’m willing to make a _deal_. Capisce?”

Dee waves frantically at the TV and Sam gets up to turn it on. She motions him to flick through the channels until he finds the local Kansas news station.

“I’m not going to sell my soul for the Blade.” Even as she says it Deanna knows she already has. She can feel the ice heat of the Mark under her skin.

“I don’t need your _soul_ Deanna. I _want_ everything else. But it won’t cost _you_ much at all.”

Dee sighs. Damn cryptic demons. Like Crowley hadn’t been bad enough now she had to deal with this too. She’s about to give the demonic bitch a piece of her mind when her eyes fall on the little TV screen in the corner of the library. And she recognises the building. Surrounded by cops. And a helicopter. That cannot be good.

“Fuck,” she whispers. More to herself or the world than the phone.

“Don’t be a stranger,” Abaddon says, voice like sugar syrup. “You know how to reach me when you need to-”

“If you hurt her…”

“Oh, that’s not us sweetheart. That’s _all_ Heaven.”

“Heaven?” Deanna says. Watches Cas’ eyes go wide. Genuine shock at least.

“Metatron has the kid. Kill Crowley and I’ll give you the Blade back. Simple.”

“Deal.” Deanna doesn’t even think about it. She disconnects the call.

Her attention is pinned on the images of her daughter’s school building on the local news station with the words ‘Hostage Situation’ running across the screen. She’s holding the cell phone so tight the plastic starts to crack. She drops the phone and spins on the angel instead.

“You said you had that place locked down, angel.” The last word is the worst curse she can think of these days. She hates every last feathered one of them with a hot fury to match the ice in their cold little hearts.

Cas is powered up again. She shouldn’t be able to slam him back into the wall the way she does. And he looks almost as surprised about it as she is which means he isn’t _letting_ her. But right then she doesn’t care. The effects of the Mark simmering in her blood.

“Stay the fuck away from my kid,” she snarls. Then she leaves. They can follow her or not. She doesn’t care. She’s getting Mary Jo back. That’s all there is to it.

* * *

**Lebanon K-12 Independent School, Kansas.**

Deanna knows she’s a little bit over armed for a soccer mom but she really doesn’t care about what the PTA thinks at this point.

She rushed and sped all the way here but now she’s in the parking lot she hesitates before getting out of the car. There are two serious problems with her normal fake Fed approach.

First of all these people know her. She’s MJ’s mom. She’s always been cagey about what she does. The guidance counsellor is a hunter’s kid but otherwise no one really has any idea who or what she is - for this very reason. In case she ever needed to use it. Change who she is to get or do something. They know Sam too - as MJ’s uncle. And they knew Kevin as a family friend or maybe nanny. She never got that involved in that cover, if she’s honest. They don’t know Cas… but, well he’s bad enough at playing back-up cop let alone taking point. Even if he was there he’d be no help. In the end she sent him away to go play whatever stupid game he thought he was playing with Gadreel. She’s not even counting it as backstabbing anymore. She’s just so sick of it all.

The second problem is that the Feds are already there. As are the Marshals, SWAT, those guys in the brown Ford might be NSA or some shit. This is terrorism. This is kids - held at gunpoint by adults which somehow makes it a bigger deal that kids being held at gunpoint by other kids. People… too many freaking people.

But those aren’t men and women in there. Those are angels. And these people out here have no chance in Heaven or Hell of doing anything other than turning into fucking cannon fodder and putting her kid in danger.

“Dee?” Sam sounds like he cares again. Great. Good for you Sammy.

“I don’t have a freaking plan,” she says. Hopelessly. Lets her head fall on top of her hands on the steering wheel. She wouldn’t normally admit that - there are certain things you don’t say to your bratty baby brother and admitting to something he’s always accusing you of is one of them. She doesn’t fucking care though. Because MJ is inside that building with a bunch of pissed off angels who probably think she’s Cas’ fucking kid and for once the cover story is probably worse than reality. Fuck it all.

Sam laughs but it’s hollow. Then, “Hey, is that Crowley?”

She looks up. And yeah, damn it, it is. He’s leaning against a stupid slick black Maserati, of all freaking things, and waiting for them to notice him.

At least it gets her out of the car. Gives her something to do while she waits for an opening. The Sheriff's Office are corralling all the parents and she doesn’t need to get caught up in that mess just yet. So she stomps over to the not-quite King of Hell.

“What?” she asks. Demands, maybe. Fuck it.

“I saw the news,” Crowley says - smug as ever. “Thought you might need a little help.”

“Why and _how_ the fuck would you help me Crowley?”

“I like the kid…” He shrugs and his eyes slide from hers, if she didn’t know better she would think he actually meant it.

She feels her blood sing a moment before she sees Abaddon out of the corner of her eye. She’s ready. She nods, almost imperceptibly, then shifts her weight.

She’s caught the Blade before Crowley’s even noticed her move. He sees it once it’s in her hands though and his eyes go a little wide. Sam’s way too many of even his giant steps behind to stop this and she really, really doesn’t care at all.

She puts her free hand on the back of Crowley’s neck and slides the blade, smooth and easy into his stomach in one fluid move. She pulls his face towards hers. From the outside it might look like she was about to kiss him. In fact from the odd little sound Sam makes she’s pretty sure that's what he still thinks.

“No deal,” Dee says into his ear before she takes a step back and drops him.

“Hearts and minds, Crowley. You just forgot which hearts and minds.” Abaddon has stepped up next to her. Watches Crowley’s essence flicker out and his meat-suit fall forwards. Abaddon throws her arm out towards Sam without even looking at him. Dee feels the power as Abaddon pins Sam in place. Feels it in her arm. In her blood.

Dee glances back at him and shrugs apologetically. This is about MJ. He knows how far she’ll go for her family - even if it means betraying them. She should say something. Reassure him somehow. But…

“Get me in?” she says to Abaddon instead.

Abaddon nods. Snaps the fingers of her free hand and everyone in the vicinity falls asleep. Or dies. They all fall down and that’s gonna have to be enough.

Deanna nods to her and starts to turn to go into the building. Before she can Abaddon grabs her sleeve and reels her in closer. “Careful, Winchester. You’re my secret weapon, remember.”

“Not so secret anymore,” Dee points out but can’t help the smile that plays across her lips.

Abaddon kisses her - once, hard. Then lets her go. Lets her run into the building and probably get herself killed. It’s almost sweet.

* * *

Sam’s still not sure what just happened. It all happened way too quick. Abaddon waits maybe six heartbeats before she lets him go and disappears as suddenly as she arrived. He’s left standing amongst hundreds of dead or maybe sleeping parents, reporters, and cops. His sister just ran into a school that’s being held hostage by angels. And his mind is stuck on a dead demon king and the fact he’s almost certain he didn’t hallucinate the fact the Deanna just kissed freaking Abaddon.

He honestly has no idea what to react to first. At least, not until he hears the first wailing kid. Then it gets clear and he’s moving, unholstering an angel blade and running after his unhinged martyr of a sibling. He has just enough wits left about him to think about how freaking typically Winchester that is before he’s entering the school gym and watching his whole life end before his eyes…

The other angels are all dead. The kids are clustered against one wall and it looks like MJ was ushering them all out the backdoor before she noticed what was happening at the other end of the gym and froze. Just like Sam has frozen - to watch it all in slow motion. Both of them unable to really understand what just happened.

Metatron takes a step back from Deanna… from Deanna… blood red on his blade and a smirk on his face. And Sam can’t breathe. He can’t think… But he’s moving. Someone’s shouting. It’s him. He’s calling Deanna’s name…

And MJ is running too. And Sam hesitates just a moment too long. He’s not sure. Wants to catch Dee but he has to stop MJ because he can already see that she’s falling to her knees.

“Mom!” she’s screaming. And… holy fuck…

The room goes white. Sam closes his eyes and turns his face and he’s lucky not to be blinded. When the light clears MJ has Deanna in her arms. And Metatron’s abandoned vessel smoking at her feet. At least Sam hopes it is abandoned. What little he has read about what MJ probably is would suggest that killing an angel wouldn’t be good for her… or the world. It’s one of those first steps you just can’t take back. Like opening the gates of Hell or letting Lucifer out of his cage. It’ll be MJ’s own version of Sam killing Lilith. Like father like-

Sam finds himself at MJ’s side. Slides his sister from her child’s arms. She’s still warm. No pulse. He doesn’t know how long they sit like that. Isn’t sure how long Abaddon was standing behind him. Doesn’t really care.

“What,” he whispers, voice a broken mess of what it was. Before. Before this. Maybe it’ll never come back to normal. Maybe nothing ever will.

He should try attack her. He’s pretty sure she planned this. Or used it to get this outcome. Not to mention she would obliterate him… that’d be better. Better than this. But he’s got another idea. She’s the Queen of Hell now right?

“What’s the cost…” he says. Rasps… “to… I need her back?”

“I’m not a saleswoman, Sammy.” She sounds smug. So freaking smug.

She wanders around them. Picks up the First Blade from where it dropped next to Deanna’s hand. She gives it a speculative look. It glows for a second in her hand - the same way it did the first time Dee picked it up but not as bright. She smiles at it the way Dee used to smile at MJ when she was a baby - half proud mama and half hurt child looking at the thing that was going to kill them.

“Step back,” the Queen commands. And for some fucked-up reason even he can’t decipher Sam does. He leans Deanna back against the wall and steps away.

“What are you doing?” and that’s MJ who has the presence of mind to question it. Of course it is. Kid’s always been smarter than the rest of them combined.

“I’m bringing back Mommy, Mary Jo.” Abaddon’s smile is too bright and real for something as evil as she is. “I’m bringing her back better…”

Sam pulls MJ back and away. She doesn’t fight him on it but they’re both tense. She’s ready to run. Like she knows something worse is about to go down. But how in Hell could this get any worse...

Abaddon crouches down and places the blade back in Dee’s hand. Wraps dead fingers around the handle and curls it back onto Dee’s chest. She doesn’t look soft exactly - Sam’s pretty sure that isn’t possible. But she does look… pleased maybe? She leans forward and kisses Deanna’s forehead in another show of completely out of place tenderness.

“I don’t care if you stay,” Abaddon says, matter of fact as she looks over her shoulder at Sam and MJ. “But you probably don’t want to be here for what happens next… it’s been a few thousand years for me but I’m pretty sure this part got messy.” And the smile she gives on the word messy makes Sam’s blood run cold. Even colder than it did when Lucifer had control of him.

He practically runs to get MJ out of there.

“Oh,” Abaddon’s voice carries across the space when they’re almost out the door. “And leave the car… she’ll want _that_.”

And, because he’s a freaking moron when his sister’s life is concerned, it isn’t until he hears the emphasis on that sentence that he realises he really isn’t gonna like whatever it is that Abaddon is bringing back. But it’s too late now, so he gets MJ clear and hopes to- _something_ that he hasn’t damned the world even worse than he did _last_ time…

* * *

** **

**Three months and a _lot_ of bodies later…**

Abaddon has decided that watching Deanna fight with the Blade is some kind of sex in and of itself. She’s seen Mark and Blade in action before. She had been in awe of the sheer brutal power behind every move Cain even made. But this is something else again. Something _more_.

Cain had been the first. A master of death. The Father of Murder as the humans say. He had been aggressive, an unstoppable force. But if Cain was the original, the source, then Deanna is the pinnacle, the perfection, distilled into something _more_. She’s a master piece. She was raised to fight. Destined to be a weapon of God and now… now she’s the weapon of Hell. She’s fury, and grace, and pain - she is hot muscled death, a destructive dancer, covered in blood. She’s an assault from every angle, every part of her is a honed edge, bringing pain and violence with every single movement. Cain was disorder and brutality, chaos and destructions. Deanna is precise, exact, and relentless. It’s magnificent.

Deanna is panting. Still half crouched from her last blow. Surrounded by viscera and fallen demons. Crowley’s idiot of a vizier had managed to hole up and drum up a few holdouts. Their resistance was pitiful. But it was worth it to see this. It gave Deanna things to kill. Things to destroy.

“Do you know what my name means?” Abaddon asks her. Deanna’s demon black eyes flick up to meet Abaddon’s still human blue ones. She is such a glorious thing. Terror made flesh, so pure.

“Destruction,” Deanna says. She stands and fits the Blade back into the sheath on her thigh. “Annihilation.” Deanna stalks toward her, purpose clear. Licks a drop of blood from her lips. “Demolition. Obliteration. Abaddon, the end of all things… That about right?”

“Yes, just like you,” Abaddon says just before their lips meet in another form of violence. Seeking a smaller death in their bodies - one stolen and one born. Smearing other people's blood all over each other. When Deanna sinks her teeth into the flesh of Abaddon’s neck she realises that she may have finally found her match. If she was a praying demon she should probably thank Lucifer’s Grace that Deanna is on her side, in her hands, pressed into her body in a physical kind of lust instead of a bloody one… but she’s a destroyer not a creator. So indulgence is as close as she’ll let herself come.

* * *

Olivette eyes the two demons warily as one stalks around her office and the other sweeps in like she owns the place.

Olivette, like any self-respecting natural witch, has a healthy disdain for demons in general. Unfortunately for that disdain the number of demonically powered witched has been rising steadily ever since the Inquisition and the Men of Letters war against genuine witchcraft. That means that the Grand Coven, and Olivette in particular, have been having to play nice with hellspawn for centuries. And on one memorable and almost successful occasion in the 1950s even worked with one to try and ensure the destruction of the hated Men of Letters Brotherhood.

That means that Olivette recognised not only what they were but that they were both powerful. Very powerful. They stink of demon. And she doesn’t mean they smell like Hell. The sulfur that clings to demons fresh from the pit isn’t the same as the pure Darkness which actually corrupts them and powers what they are. It is that Darkness which clings to these two. Almost emanates from them both. She hasn’t seen a demon that powerful since…

“Abaddon,” Olivette says as it finally sinks in. “What a pleasant surprise. I was rather under the impression that you were destroyed during our last… endeavour. Won’t you take a seat?”

Abaddon grins at her in a way that is calculated to invoke unease. Olivette smiles back blandly.

“We won’t be long,” Abaddon says. Her companion continues to ignore them both in favor of examining Olivette’s bookshelf in a way that seems bored but isn’t. They’re both possessing attractive vessels. Abaddon’s is a tall redhead as usual - a tee-shirt and black leather jacket at odds with an old fashioned hairstyle. But it is the other one that intrigues Olivette’s real interest. She’s a dirty blonde, beautiful but hard muscled in a way that says military on catwalk. She’s wearing jeans and a black tank top - and that’s the interesting bit. The top means that anyone who knows what they’re looking at can see the anti-possession tattoo on the vessel’s chest as plain as day. Totally unharmed. And isn’t _that_ odd.

“I see,” Olivette returns her attention to Abaddon. “And how can the Coven assist the last Knight of Hell?”

“Queen,” Abaddon corrects with a smirk. And Olivette is smart enough to know the truth when she hears it especially from demon. She knew there had been upheavals of course. But she had also been neck deep in fallen angels and had a few new leads on Rowena - she simply hadn’t been paying quite as much attention to Hell’s business as it seems she should have.

“Congratulations,” Olivette bows slightly and takes a seat on the wrong side of her desk. She’s tempted to ring for an acolyte to bring tea but doesn’t want to prove her suspicion that all of her acolytes are dead.

“Thanks. I need a spell…  a very special kind of spell.”

“Yes? And in return?”

“I’ll finish what we started 70 years ago, and I’ll give you Rowena…”

Now Olivette’s interest is piqued. Very piqued. “Do go on,” she says, smile genuine at last.

 


	3. Ramble On

** **

**Somewhere Warmer...**

Deanna wakes up slower these days. When she’s safe, at home, in her own bed and not on a case. On the nights there aren’t any nightmares and no unknown sounds, that is. Slow and warm like a normal human person. Usually to a cup of coffee too, because her wife is both a literal and a metaphorical angel. It’s unnatural, but it’s usually kind of nice.

Not this morning, though. She wakes up sudden and cold like she used to. She’s done this kind of wake up a _lot_ longer than she’s been able to sleep in. It almost feels like coming home. More awake than she has been in months. Like she feels the danger a moment before it gets there and that’s what starts her heart. She senses the movement before the sound. And she’s awake and ready to defend Sam, or Beth or Anna. That’s natural.

Anna isn’t there. That isn’t too odd though. The clock says it’s 4:30am and the baby monitor blinks silent but on. She’s still not convinced by this whole ‘baby in the next room not in our _bed_ Dee’ argument. Particularly when one of them ‘doesn’t even sleep, Anael’ but the monitor helps. So do all the wards and salt lines for that matter.

 _Anna?_ she prays silently. No answer. Again, not a bad sign in itself… but… something’s wrong she just feels it. She knows that women’s intuition shit Sammy teases her about is stupid but there is _this_ sometimes. Live a life as violent and upended as hers and you just get a sense for these things.

It’s cold - way too cold and that’s what’s wrong. And once she realises _that,_ she’s up and armed. Grabs her favourite gun from the bedside table and straps her angel blade to her thigh. Samantha will laugh at her if it turns out to be nothing - wandering around the halls in her pyjamas (with the cartoon angels on them - thank you Anna) and a small sword strapped to her leg. But if she needs it she’ll be glad it’s there and glad Anna talked her into the scabbard contraption in the first place for that matter. Her breath isn’t misting yet so _maybe_ not a ghost...

Dee moves as quietly as she can. Which is pretty damn quietly, if you’re wondering. All those stealth drills Dad used to run her through didn’t do much for her school work or her teenage love life but they sure as Hell gave her something. She slides the door open and avoids the creak , just the way she learned to pretty much the moment they moved in here, and long before she had a cranky baby to keep asleep.

It’s _more_ than quiet out there. Like the whole building is holding its breath. The nursery door is slightly ajar. And Dee is about to move for it when-

Deanna Winchester has a lot of nightmares. She’s seen the things that go bump in the night and she’s killed most of them. But this, right here, is her worst nightmare. Her worst fear come to life and breathing.

A demon bending over Bethany’s cradle. Not yet touching, but curious.

Abaddon looks up before Dee can react. And it _is_ Abaddon - all whole and looking nothing like the cut up and screaming things they had buried in a dozen graves across Kansas months ago. Maybe years ago?

“You?” Dee hears herself say, confused.

“Me,” Abaddon agrees. “Nice kid. Smaller than usual.”

“Thanks, but I didn’t really ask for your opinion. _You_ should probably step away from my kid, right the fuck now. This,” Dee tilts the gun slightly to draw attention to the fact it’s pointing at Abaddon’s head, “is a Colt 1911 and I’m a pretty good shot with it, ‘specially at close range. A silver demon trap bullet to the head has gotta hurt no matter _what_ kind of thing you are.”

Abaddon smiles like she knows something but steps away from the crib anyway, hands up.

“What does your tattoo say?” Abaddon asks.

“None of your business, Hell-bitch.” Dee puts her weight on her back foot ready to flinch out of the way if the demoness tries to touch her.

Abaddon just smiles some more at that and takes a few steps closer to Deanna. And for some idiotic reason Dee lets her anyway. She should be praying her heart out but… but? God, she smells good. Like apples and sin.

“Queen of all my dreams?” Abaddon reads out the ancient sumerian into English, it twists around Deanna’s forearm, built into the curves and patterns of the sigils and protections of the design. Anna’s design… because those Zep lyrics… they’re Anna... Aren’t they? It’s getting hard to focus. Hard to think and feel. She’s cold. Really cold… Abaddon is up really freaking close now. Close enough to kiss and isn’t that a fucked up thing to think? Certainly close enough to put a hand on Dee’s wrist and push the gun down and out of the way… “Wake up, Deanna.”

“Wh… what?”

“I said _wake_ up.” Then the demon kisses her hot and hard, and fucking perfect. Like a dream. And Dee kisses back like she needs it to live. Like the taste of sulfur and blood and _demon_ is the best thing in the world.

Abaddon pulls away from the kiss and Deanna’s body wants to follow her. Like she’s a magnet.

“This is all a dream,” Abaddon continues, quick now like she’s rushed or…  “Siren blood and djinn’s poison - blessed, and injected directly into you to keep you compliant. It’s almost clever. But Sam is underestimating you _again_ , Deanna. Wake. Up. That’s an _order_ , soldier.” Abaddon winks at her and smiles a little smirk that heats her blood.

It makes her bones feel a little warmer. Warms her skin against the broken cold around her… Warm like a demon’s flesh.

“Abby?” Dee whispers. Afraid of how right that feels on her tongue.

“Yeah, baby.” Abaddon smiles, for real this time. It must be what Josie Sands looked like when she smiled. Because it’s real, it reaches her eyes and it’s blinding. It’s another weapon in her hands because everything is, but maybe… just maybe… this is a fight Dee’s ready to lose.

Deanna smiles back, and her eyes go black.

* * *

Abaddon doesn’t remember what being human was like. Not in anything more than an abstract sense anyway. Not in the visceral real way that Deanna does.

Abaddon remembers… a little girl. A victim. A sacrifice. Small and fragile with dark hair and too pale olive skin. She remembers the deal made before an altar slab. Sold to God or sold to Hell – did it matter? For good crops and a bit of sunshine. Sold too cheap no matter who was buying.

She remembers her own fear in the face of Lucifer’s own light. And she remembers refusing to ever be that weak again. All the rest is futile and intangible and it doesn’t _matter_ anymore.

She remembers Lucifer clear as a sun, though. Before the cage. She remembers the way he burned cold. Burned her open. Bled out the weakness. Remade her into something more than she was before. She doesn’t remember a human father but she remembers the Devil. Doesn’t remember what those precious crops even _were_. But she remembers what it felt like to stop caring about them. She remembers what it felt like to burn that village down, salt the Earth and start fresh. Hell’s heart, doe she remember that. All the rest has all been buried deep, under layers of fire and ice. Just the way it should be.

She remembers Cain, too. She remembers being shaped. Trained. Changed. Touched and invaded by the oldest of demonic magics. Remembers the way her first kill felt. Remembers blades of bone and, later, flint, later still cast in bronze. Bones or steel. It doesn’t matter. They’re all good. They all find and feed the endless hunger that Cain gave her. Let the Darkness in. That’s good enough. That’s enough to remember. That hunger, it’s enough. That’s enough to _be_.

She thinks she is formed more, now, from the leftover lives of the women (and some men) who have hosted her demonic form over the centuries. Certainly she is made up of them more than that weak little thing on a slab that birthed her. She remembers more of Josie Sands and Mary Clare Williams, more of Helena of Crete and little Miss Bethany Walker than she ever will of the child on the altar stone. Even Collette she remembers better than the sacrificial girl she once was.

She didn’t like Colette, though. Not just because she stole Cain away from her. From all of them. No, not _just_ that.

She hated her because she was weak and didn’t even know it. Colette wasn’t broken but she may as well have been. She was so weak and she didn’t even see it. Hid it behind false morality. Abaddon didn’t just hate Colette – she hated _being_ Colette. She hated the memories and the obsessive tether hooks of virtuous faith. Didn’t like the taste it left on the tattered remnants of her soul. It tasted too much like what she used to be.

Abaddon hated Colette for the same reasons she loved Josie.

Josie was strong. Faithful in a way that meant something. And that is why she went to all the effort of resurrecting Josie’s body after its destruction. She likes the way it feels to be this beautiful, powerful thing. She likes the height and the hair and the strength in this body. But she likes the memories too. Likes the way Josie thought and felt the world. Likes the power, the passion, and the conviction. A certain selfish selflessness that she revels in.

Is it really any wonder that she wanted the Righteous Woman too, from the moment she first saw Deanna move?

At first she just wanted to take Deanna Winchester and wear her. Wanted to burn the tattoo off her breast bone and make Deanna into part of the legion that is Abaddon. Wanted to move _through_ that battle hardened body. Wanted to feel and _be_ that beautiful violence. Take all that potential and apply it to the weakest edges of the world.

That, however, was before she found out the game that Crowley was playing with the elder Winchester. And, if she has to give the little rat anything it would be this. Getting Deanna Winchester to take the Mark of Cain was, she has to admit it, genius.  Of course the rodent didn’t know what he had until it was far too late. He might have guessed at it but he didn’t _know_ that mark the way Abaddon did. Didn’t know what it could do. Didn’t know what Deanna could be. Crowley didn’t know what that Darkness felt like in your blood. But Abaddon does – she could see the rage and the fire under that woman’s skin, as well as she feels her own. And the moment she realized it she knew it had to be hers. All of it.

Turns out Crowley had one use after all. The Mark of Cain. A new Knight. A new Keeper. A new First for a new Queen. It made _perfect_ sense. And the moment she realized that, she got her purpose back too. A match made in Hell.

Lucifer made the Knights as a first line of defence. And when Cain rejected them. Killed her brothers and sisters in arms. He bled out Abbadon’s purpose with her brothers’ lives. Deanna gave that _back_. Gave Hell a purpose it had lacked for so long. Protect the First. Protect the Mark. Protect the Dark.

And Abaddon was so, so close to achieving that goal. So close to getting her reasons and her reason back in her hands.

The brother had to die, of course. The Mark had to be _sealed_ into Deanna’s soul. That was never a choice. And then, then the world was theirs for the taking - if they wanted it.

Even Lucifer hadn’t been able to seal the Mark. Couldn’t kill Michael. And she knew Sam hadn’t been able to do it either. Weakness. Always weakness. She realised that a long time ago.

Deanna can do better though. Deanna is like a lioness on the verge of becoming a gryphon. Beaten, starved, pushed to the very edge - but twisted by that pain into something magnificent. With all those strong bones and sinews no longer hidden under a starved and scarred skin. She was always a lion now she can be more. And that, combined with the Mark… that was what it always should have been. Not some pampered favourite, the starved and broken warrior is a much better fit. She knows what she’s fighting for. Fighting against.

Deanna will give them _all_ a purpose. She just needed a little push, and a little plan.

The plan had been good. But they hadn’t accounted for a toxin. The cure, yes- cured enough to break a devils’ trap was all part of the plan, but still demon enough to seal the Mark. _That_ was the plan. The toxin was a new development.

Thus, Abaddon finds herself almost human for the first time in six thousand years. It isn’t pleasant. She doesn’t really see what all the fuss is about but it will get her through the wards. Into the bunker, with Deanna’s key. Into the chamber where her lover is chained down. Close enough to blend their worlds… and hopefully, hopefully, long enough to wake her up…

* * *

“Abby?” Deanna blinks herself awake. Voice husky as she pushes off the last vestiges of the wish dream. A dream where she wished she had a sister not a brother and isn’t _that_ telling says the almost human part of her mind… It’s irrelevant now though. He poisoned her. Tortured her. He’s going to die. It’s that simple. She’s a Winchester, she _can_ kill her demons – especially the ones with human souls.

She snaps the bonds tying her to the chair. It’s easy this close to human the magic doesn’t work but she still has the strength of the Mark under her skin. And Abaddon…?

“How?” she asks. Still hard to think. Hard to see… hard to remember what’s real and what isn’t.

“Baby’s blood, a bit of holy ground and a beaten up hunter - it wasn’t difficult.” Abaddon shrugs but Deanna knows her better than that now. She knows it was hard. She knows humanity _hurts_. She knows Abbadon, too. She knows what this cost the demon Queen. It would have made her feel weak…

Deanna risks a moment to kiss her Queen. To pull her in and really feel the flesh of those sweetly stolen lips on her own. “Thank you,” she breathes it. Lets it be spoken but not said.  
On the edge of real. Just like them. Not quite human, not just demon. Walking the very edge of the Darkness.

Abaddon pulls them both to their feet and turns. Then she stops. Pauses. Indecision - that’s gotta be an almost human thing.

“Mama?” MJ says from the dungeon door. Fuck.

“Hey princess,” Deanna says. Tries to smile. Doesn’t dare blink her eyes to black even though she really, really wants to see. Wants to know for certain that MJ _is_ what she’s always feared, and now hopes, she is. Not that she doesn’t trust Abaddon’s word - if anyone could recognise Lucifer’s grace then it would be Abaddon - the third demon made, and met by Lucifer long long before the cage.

“Mommy?” MJ says, she sounds a little broken and Dee is human enough to care. Human enough to care about her child as much as her Antichrist.

She hears his great lumbering steps before she hears his voice. The Mark burns. She’s ready. Maybe she’s always been ready...

“MJ,” Sam yells as he runs up the corridor, “get back to your room _now_.”

* * *

MJ listens to him for once. Thank fucking Christ. She leaves, staggers back out of the doorway. Gives him a slightly betrayed look but takes his instruction. Maybe he should have told her Dee was alive… kind of alive anyway. She’s gone by the time he gets to the dungeon himself.

Deanna’s standing there. Still inside the circle but the IV is gone and her restraints snapped, the chair is smashed too. She’s not happy. Strong stance, her own blood dripping down her arm, face down in the shadow. She’s ready to fight. Turned some part of the chair into a weapon held soft but ready at her side and slightly behind her - ready to swing if he gets close enough to the trap. He remembers the way she fought Cole. The way she smirked and toyed with him. This isn’t going to be that. He can already tell. Brutal is the only word to describe her current mood. And it’s all directed at Sam.

“Morning, Oedipus,” she says, and she smirks. Looks up to meet Sam’s eyes - hers are fully black. God he hates to see that. And why in hell did she have to go with _that_ one. Because she’s a demon, it’s what they do, isn’t it?

He remembers, even before Lucifer, remembers Azazel wearing his father’s skin _‘how very oedipal,_ ’ the demonic angel had said, with their father’s voice. Sam had tried to defend Deanna which was natural but something else must have shown in his eyes at that moment. It hit way too close to home, even then. Even before Lucifer. Because Dee has always been his mother as much as his sister, then that double implication from his father’s lips... It stung, it stings still. And that’s why Deanna chose it now… probably. She’s always known how to hurt him if she wants to. She just didn’t want to most of the time. Would have cut off her own arm first… not anymore.

“This isn’t you…” he says. He hopes. “You don’t have to do this Dee. You don’t _want_ to do this.”

He takes a step into the room. Angel blade still held but loose at his side. He spots it a moment too late. Her weapon isn’t part of the broken chair at all. It’s the Blade. And if she’s got that then-

Abaddon grabs Sam from behind. Pins his arms to his sides and leans in close to his ear. “She’s mine, Zizop. All mine.”

And for some sick reason Sam’s last thought, before he greets Death a fourth time, is that while he wishes _Dee_ had been the last thing he heard, at least she’s the last thing he sees. And her eyes were _green_ when she drove the Blade into his heart. Could’ve been worse…

* * *

Death smiles and offers the former Boy King her hand.

The new Queen of Hell kisses her Consort over the fallen body that once was Sam Winchester. Blood from Deanna’s hands smears into Abaddon’s hair but neither seems to care.

It seems fitting, in a way. The gateway and her guardian Queen wrapped around each other and trying to recreate original sin with each half huffed breath.

Death felt the Mark seal, like relief. Felt the Darkness get pushed back down and tied into its host. For now. The world has bought itself a few more thousand years. A blink in the eye of Death but a long time for humanity and the other creatures that walk their way to her on a daily basis.

Sam looks sad. Death has become very good at reading expressions as well as souls. Sad isn’t uncommon.

“Siblings are complicated things,” Death says. One day she will reap God. She doesn’t deny Deanna her victory. Over herself as much as her brother. One day Death will be in that position and there will be no demon queen to kiss Death like she’s everything. No one ever kisses Death. Well, no one kisses back. That’s kind of the point.

“How would you know?” Sam says, it isn’t as morose as you might expect mostly just confused.

“There is more than one creation myth, Samuel. And God always did love narrative symmetry.”

Sam does think about it. Looks away from his sister and her lover. Looks at Death instead.

“God,” Sam says at last. “Death and Life. Destruction and Creation. God’s you brother?”

“Probably.”

** **

**END**

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed my experiential little foray into rule 63 possibilities. Concrit welcome.
> 
> Comments and kudos are love!


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